Read Online The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds by Michael Rizzo - Free Book Online Page A

sweaty and sore and shaky after doing an
extra spin-session in the centrifuge followed by a hard workout
with my Shinkyo gift. (Everybody gave me a wide berth in the gym—I
expect they could read how I was feeling with every cut I made at
empty air.) The blade felt remarkably good in my hands, as if
telling me where my path should lie. I drilled until my palms
started to blister. Then all I wanted was a shower.
    Sakina is in my tiny quarters (as she usually is when
she’s not with me or drilling with Rios’ “study team”), sitting in
one of her deep meditative exercises on her mat, her arms and hands
moving with invisible energies. She only pauses momentarily when I
come in, then she’s back to her exercises, as if she felt it was
best to keep her distance from the issues at hand. I strip like my
uniform hurts. Start the water cycling. Get my head and shoulders
in the flow.
    I don’t know how long I just stand in there with the
water running over me, but then I feel her hands on my shoulders. I
can’t help but flinch, but then I allow it, too tired to protest or
even think about what’s about to happen. Then I feel her body up
against mine in the water. She’s as naked as I am.
    “What…?” I start to pull away, but her finger touches
my lips.
    “Shhhh…” Her hands go back to massaging my neck, my
shoulders, my back. “You never allow anyone to care for you,” she
says softly. “Even steel needs care.”
    She reduces the shower to a conservative trickle and
keeps working. Her hands are very strong, but smooth and skilled.
She works down my back to my legs, not saying a word, taking her
time. Then she stands up and turns me to face her, starting to work
on my arms, my chest. She moves in very close to stay under the
water with me.
    “What am I to you, Sakina?” I finally ask her. She
doesn’t meet my eyes.
    “You know,” she whispers lightly, her hands running
up and down my stomach.
    “You aren’t my servant,” I try to tell her. “You are
so much more to me than that…”
    “I know,” she says, her mouth curling up into a bit
of a grin. She presses herself closer up against me, her hands on
my hips. I can’t help but look at her. But then I can smell her—the
musk is unmistakable. It hits me like a drug, and my body responds
despite my hesitation. She moves her hands down to take hold of me,
and I jerk back. She has me up against the stall. Reflexively, I
look up at the security cameras that monitor my room. The lenses
have been turned away (not turned off—that would trigger an
alarm—but tilted sideways as designed to allow for privacy in the
bedroom). She puts her hands on the wall on either side of my head
and begins to gyrate slowly against me.
    “I know what to do,” she tells me, and then shushes
me again when I try to say something. She turns her face toward
mine, lips parted. I move to kiss her, but she pulls away a bit,
looking confused, then her lips play tentatively with mine. I
realize she may have had or at least seen sex, but kissing may not
be in her cultural experience. What she does do is taste me,
breathe in my scent. Then she drops to her knee and demonstrates
very directly what she’s learned. I’m thinking I shouldn’t be
letting her do this, thinking about what may happen, thinking about
just how frustrated and cut off I’m feeling from the planet I came
from, and then almost immediately musing that I’ve never been the
type to even consider not doing what Sakina has so
persistently begun.
    I’m not that old.
    I pull her up to her feet and put her back up against
the wall. I’m surprised how easily she lets me manipulate her—she
almost melts in my grip, her body vibrating as I touch her,
breathing deep and hard, her dark eyes fluttering.
    Then I show her a few of the things I know.
    I’m not that old at all.
     
    When I wake up sometime that night, I’m confused to
find myself alone in my bed. Sakina is curled up on her roll as she
usually is—I can see